


The Actual Opposite of Fluff

by OneSmartChicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bring tissues, Character Death, Feels, I don't know why I wrote this, I'm Sorry, OW, Pack Feels, Pain, Werewolf!Stiles, Witches, everything hurts and nothing's alright, witches suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Witches kill Stiles. There's a lot of feels. Heed the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Actual Opposite of Fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Does wolfsbane work on mountain lions?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/848917) by [OneSmartChicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken). 



> Note that, while this is technically the characters from Wolfsbane/Mountain Lions and a slight peek at what I have intended for their developments, THIS ISN'T A THING THAT'LL EVER HAPPEN BECAUSE MY STORIES HAVE HAPPY ENDINGS(I can't stand sad endings, really I can't). But I felt like typing up something emotional, so. This happened.
> 
> It's completely un-beta'd, un-proofed, and un-happiness.
> 
> It hurts a lot and if you're anything like me you'll cry a lot so if you don't like that then don't read it.

Witches were apparently a thing. Under different circumstances, Stiles may actually have shrieked in girlish delight, but in the middle of the woods being attacked by an evil coven of witches(Stiles never made the mistake of assuming all of something was evil or good just because the first time they encountered it, it was evil or good, mostly because the rest of the pack always made that assumption) was really not a gleeful-shrieking sort of experience. Sucking in air, Stiles leaned back against a tree in the hopes of catching her breath before the witches caught _her_. Erica and Isaac were both within seeing distance, mimicking her for the most part. Stiles let her eyes closed, reaching out with her other senses to search for her packmates. Boyd was the only one within sensing distance, which wasn't a surprise. They hadn't even been together when the witches attacked, the pack just trickling in for a meeting. They hadn't had any incidents in weeks, which was basically years in the supernatural world of Beacon Hills(Stiles wondered if the rest of the supernatural world had it this bad or if Beacon Hills was just that lucky) so they had been relaxed, laid back in their gathering, only really bothering with a meeting at all as a "just in case" and because they enjoyed getting everyone together. Stiles hoped no one had been hurt by the witches yet, other than the burns fading from Isaac and Erica, and the electricity that had coursed through Stiles' veins.

"Where's a flying house when you need one?" Stiles quipped irritably under her breath, earning a quiet laugh from Erica and a snort from Isaac. They both gave her a look that clearly judged her sanity, and found it wanting, but Stiles just grinned. The joke had brought their heartrates down a few notches, calming them down so they could think. Stiles always worked well under pressure, but had found her packmates occasionally panicked, unable to think through fear and pain. Privately, Stiles wondered if being _born_ , so to speak, as a werewolf under such... _strenous_ circumstances, had given her an extra edge in that department, but whenever it was mentioned she just made some sort of stupid joke or, rarely, pointed at her ADD as a possible reason. Even now, 22 and a frankly badass werewolf, Stiles showed signs of the disorder that had plagued her childhood and entire human life.

"I'd settle for those shoes," Erica whispered, grinning, and Stiles' grin grew. They leaned towards each other for a moment, sucking up that warm, soothing feeling that their relationship had come to exude. The comfort was a familiar, steadying rock, a proverbial light in the literal dark. Both feeling much more solid, they looked to Isaac, who was looking nervously behind them again. Stiles jerked her head, and they were running again, Boyd slowly drifting nearer to them as they ran. The witch came out of no where, Stiles managing to jerk out of the way just in time to avoid having her heart burnt out. Instead the fire ate at her shoulder, a starving, mad creature gnawing on her flesh, putting itself out after an agonizing minute. Stiles didn't wait for that though, too busy lunging in to grab the witch before she could get another spell off. For just a moment, terror registered in clear blue eyes, and then Stiles teeth were tearing out her throat. Tossing the body aside for its last few death throes, Stiles bared her teeth at her packmates for stopping. They continued running.

Stiles really hated running. She was good at it; amazing, in fact, and not just by human standards. But she hated it with a passion, loathed it, even. Because this was why she'd become good at it, because she was always funning running from some random shit. Like _freaking witches._

A man screamed, and Stiles glanced over to see Boyd and Isaac dragging a golden-skinned man to the ground. Knowing they would have no problems, she looked over to where a pair of witches were trying to take down Erica. Stiles veered towards them, ready to intefere, but the idiots had gotten too close. Erica's claws embedded simultaneously in their throats, tearing out their jugulars and tracheas in one smooth motion with the sort of grin that nightmares were made of.

"It's really sick that I think you look hot like that," Stiles pointed out, earning herself another, significantly less nightmare-inducing grin.

Well, this wasn't going so bad. Stiles could scent her packmates' blood and pain, but nobody was too gravely hurt, and between the four of them they'd brought down as many witches already. Assuming the others were doing as well or better, they probably wouldn't even need to do much more running that night. Hell, they could probably just go find Derek and the others and mop up whatever stray witches were left. The coven couldn't be that large; no one they had encountered so far smelled strongly of more than two dozen people, and Stiles assumed they didn't all only mingle with witches of their coven which suggested the coven wasn't huge. At least, Stiles hoped. She was trying out a new-fangled thing called _optimism._

Optimism was not Stiles' thing.

Stiles knew this because she had been right on all accounts. There was only one witch left; the coven hadn't been that large. And as soon as they found her, there was no need for running. Lydia would explain, grim-faced, to the pack later that the leader of the coven, the last remaining witch, had put some sort of curse on the other witches that would simply allow her to harvest the magic created by their death. Working with black magic meant that the more painful, the more horrifying the death was, the stronger the magic would be. Fortunately, none of the pack had been in a "make them suffer" sort of mood. Unfortunately, they had still killed nine witches to fuel this one's already significant magic.

The hairs on her nape rose at the sight of the witch, a smirk curling the corners of the deceptively sweet-looking young woman's full mouth. The witch raised her hands, pointing at both Isaac and Erica. The wolf jerked, jolted, _writhed_ , and Stiles willingly gave herself over to its primal rage. She was throwing herself forwards when time slowed. Bullet time. _Huh._ So that was a real thing.

Stiles shoved her hand up under the witche's ribcage and found tiny, feminine hands laying themselves over her Stiles' chest. The witch laughed as Stiles' hand wrapped around her heart, was still trying to laugh as Stiles crushed it. She would have stayed to watched, really she would have, as the witch crumpled, body finally catching up to the realization that she was dead, but Stiles was too busy screaming to notice.

She hadn't screamed in a long time, not like this. She was surprised not-at-all to realize that this was not something she had missed. The screams tore her throat bloody, or maybe that was something the witch had done because suddenly she was coughing up blood even as she continued to scream. She hurled blood into the grass, horrible sobs wracking her body as tears streams down her face. Previously, Stiles had thought she knew pain. Perhaps not the worst kind of pain imaginable, but she had known what it was to hurt, what it was to fear. But Stiles would rather be bitten a thousand times by Kate than live through the eternity that was this all-consuming fire of pure agony. Everything burned. Everything was _broken._ Not her bones, surprisingly, as evidenced by her ability to hold herself up on hands and knees over the pool of blood she had left in the grass, but everything else was...was _wrong._ What had that witch _done!?_

Stiles wasn't screaming anymore, but she was still sobbing, and she couldn't breathe so she coughed up more blood to clear her airways a bit. In her world just then there existed nothing beyond the pain in her everything and the grass between her fingers and the blood glistening almost prettily in the moonlight. The wolf wasn't consumed by pain though. The wolf could think, could feel beyond the cloud of pain, since it was purely physical pain and the wolf was not a physical entity. It felt the cloy of magic, the dark, sticky cloak clinging to her from head to toe, tingling in the most wretched of ways. It was a sick and twisted, distant relative of the gentle magic she felt when one of her packmates took her pain, which was how she recognized it as magic rather than an actual physical substance. Although, what physical substance could feel so horrible the wolf didn't know. Acid, maybe. Dark magic sort of felt like very slow acid.

And so it was the wolf who noticed the magic's tendrils reaching out as Erica laid a hand on Stiles' arm, the wolf who howled and howled until Stiles took notice through the fog, and it was both Stiles and the wolf who reached out with imaginary arms and, somehow, gathered the magic up, dragged it down into the pit of her stomach. Somehow, impossibly, the pain got worse, and _finally_ Stiles was allowed some reprieve, some relief, as she collapsed. Erica caught her before she could land in her own blood, and when she came to(not too much later; Erica was sobbing over her, but it didn't look like she had been crying for more than a few minutes) her head was pillowed on Erica's comfortable, warm thighs. Teardrops fell from Erica onto Stiles' face and neck, running paths to intersect the tracks of her own tears.

"Stiles," Erica blubbered, clutching Stiles' hand and shirt too tight, far too tight; Stiles distantly felt her bones breaking, but she could barely feel it anymore so she didn't stop Erica. "God, Stiles. Oh God please, please don't go. Don't die. Don't leave me." And now there was emotional pain, but also, to Stiles' surprise, there was a sort of peace to her. Probably because of the bloodloss, honestly.

"I don't want to, baby," Stiles whispered, voice hoarse, completely destroyed. "You know I would never leave you, never leave the pack. I love you all so much. My puppies." Erica choked, and she bowed down to bury her face in Stiles' chest, even though her shirt was all bloody and disgusting.

"I love you," Erica whimpered through the sobs. "I love you so much. I need you."

"You've helped me so much, Erica," Stiles told her, because she needed to know. "You saved me so many times. Look after them, please. I know you can't be pack mom, you can't take my place, don't bother trying. But make sure they don't kill each other. Pull the Stiles card whenever you need to." The peace was a sad kind of peace as she lifted a hand to stroke Erica's hair, absently shocked she had found the strength for it. Isaac was kneeling at her side she noticed, so she tried to smile at him. He was crying too. Boyd was standing over him and--oh god, _Boyd_ was crying. Tears started to leak from her eyes again. Fuck, she was going to miss her puppies so much. She choked, turned her head to expell the blood. It took too long, longer than she had to spare. She had so much she wanted to tell them. She could never manage to get it all out, but damn if she wouldn't try. "Isaac," she rasped, and he looked up from staring helplessly at his hands. "You're good. You're so good, Isaac. You're doing so _well._ I'm so proud of you, Isaac. You're going to be amazing as a vet, and anything else you decide to do. Never forget that the pack loves you, even the Sourwolf. And Boyd--you and Erica. You're good together. Don't give up on that."

And then Derek was there, pulling her out of Erica's lap and into his arms, and Boyd's teary face seemed like a given compared to the shock of seeing Derek openly weeping over her. She could hear Allison bawling nearby, along with Scott's little whimpering sobs, but all she had eyes for was Derek.

"Hi, Sourwolf," she whispered, and she smiled at him, because even then, despite everything, he just made her so damn _happy._ But she didn't have time to try to tell him all of that, to try and explain everything to him, to try and make him understand. So she did the best she could, like she always did. She took his face in her hands and, with all the strength she had left, she sat up to press her lips to his in a kiss that said it all. 'It's okay,' it whimpered. 'I'm sorry,' it sighed. 'It's not your fault,' it promised. 'I love you,' it swore. "Don't wallow in guilt, Sourwolf," Stiles whimpered against his lips, soft and wet against her own. "I love you," because it needed to be said aloud, at least once. And then her eyes fluttered open, taking one last, longing look at those beautiful eyes of his. God, she could write poetry about those eyes. She could drown in those beautiful eyes. And it as her last chance so she smiled again, carressing his cheek. "Take care of our pups."

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! That was fun, wasn't it? Hahaha _not_  
>  I have no idea why I wrote this  
> If you'd like to read more of my writing and/or about my version of Stiles and the pack but are concerned about crying constantly or sad endings, I'm here to reassure you that sadness really isn't my thing. Although apparently my fic may make you cry, I'm definitely inclined towards fluffiness and laughter, I promise.
> 
> Uh in case you're wondering if this spoils anything for Wolfsbane, the answer is, no, not really. I actually forgot a few of the pack members(Laura, for example) now that I think about it, but I didn't want to drag out a death scene too much for probably obvious reasons. But anyway, it implies some stuff with Erica, but it's not what you might be thinking. There's a reason there's no relationships tags.


End file.
